Chapter 12: The Fall of the King
Chapter 12: The Fall of the King
My phone vibrated in my clutch. I pulled it out.
An unknown number. I answered it.
“Mara.”
The voice was deep, gravelly, and shaking with an uncontrollable rage. It was Richard Holloway.
“Richard,” I replied pleasantly. “I’m surprised they haven't put you in cuffs yet.”
“I’m at the private airstrip,” Richard snarled. “I’m leaving the country. You took my son, you took my museum, but you won't take me.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked, standing up and walking toward the glass windows.
“I have enough money hidden away to ruin you from the shadows for the rest of your life,” he threatened. “This isn't over.”
“Actually, Richard, it is,” I said. “Remember that ledger? The one detailing all your offshore accounts, shell companies, and Cayman Island trusts?”
Silence on the line.
“I didn't just send that ledger to the FBI,” I continued softly. “I sent it to the cartels you’ve been stealing from. I sent them the exact routing numbers you used to siphon their money into your private accounts.”
A sharp intake of breath on the other end.
“The FBI isn't at the airstrip, Richard. But I guarantee someone else is.”
May you like
“You—”
The line went dead. I lowered the phone, knowing that Richard Holloway’s empire had just ended, permanently.
